the hating game ; lrh

twenty-seven

SATURDAY NIGHT ARRIVES FAR quicker than I am perhaps prepared for, and before I know it I am sitting at the kitchen counter waiting for Calum to be ready to leave.

"Cal, hurry up!" I call up the stairs for what feels like the millionth time, glancing at the clock once again.

I'm not quite sure how Calum has managed to take even longer than me to get ready given I had done my makeup and hair as well, and I am about to storm upstairs and drag him out the door myself when the doorbell rings. I glance upstairs once more before making my way to the door, as if sending Calum some warning, and swing the front door open to find Luke standing there.

"Oh," I say, surprised to see him there. He is dressed in a baggy hoodie and straight-leg jeans, his typical converse adorning his feet. "What are you doing here?"

Luke rolls his eyes and pushes past me, forcing himself inside. I shut the door behind him, slightly confused, and watch as he leans up against the kitchen counter. "It's nice to see you, too," he huffs. "I'm driving."

"Oh," I repeat, nodding slowly, unsure of what else to do. "Cool."

Luke frowns, confused and judgmental of my seemingly unsatisfactory response. "Someone's chatty," he mumbles, though it is more than loud enough for me to hear. Someone's being an asshole, I respond internally, though refrain from expressing the words myself. "Where's Cal?"

"Still getting ready," I tell him, retaking my seat at the counter. I'm not sure why I feel so caught off guard that Luke has simply turned up at our doorstep — it certainly wasn't the first time he'd done such a thing.

"What, doing his makeup or something?" Luke retorts, casting a judgmental glare up at the staircase.

I giggle lightly. "Probably," I admit, unsure of what exactly was taking him so long.

After a few moments of silence, Luke reaches across the counter and lets his hand rest on top of mine. My heart flutters, yet somehow the action calms all of my scurrying nerves. I let our fingers intertwine, revelling in his touch as he slowly rubs circles on the back of my hand with his thumb, the action calming me impossibly further.

"I've missed you," Luke says, the words escaping in a whisper but reaching my ears as clear as daylight. We hadn't had the chance to speak privately in person since our beach date, and I was honestly feeling a little disconnected from him.

"I've missed you, too," I admit and he squeezes my hand in response, pulling himself over to stand closer to me. I look up into his blue eyes, letting my gaze fall slowly to his button nose, then his lips. I draw in a sharp breath, willing myself to relax and stop wishing to kiss his plump lips so badly — Calum could walk downstairs at any moment.

Luke squeezes my hand again, the action drawing us further closer, so close I can almost feel his breath on mine — but it is not enough. I pull him toward me, moments away from embracing him, and he parts his perfect lips as if to speak—

"I'm ready!" Calum calls from the top of the stairs and we jump apart as if an electric shock has coursed through us. A second later my brother appears at the foot of the stairs, beaming brightly as he strolls toward us.

Luke clears his throat loudly, avoiding my eye. "What took you so long?" I ask, hoping to steer attention away from Luke and I's extremely guilty expressions.

Calum rolls his eyes with a smile. "This face—" he points to himself, "—isn't made overnight. Beauty like this takes time, Rory," he advises me, shaking his head. "Not that I'd expect you to understand."

"What? Because I'm so naturally beautiful?" I retort with a smirk, earning a frown from my brother.

"Whatever," he mumbles, turning on his heel and shuffling toward the front door. "Let's just go."